


Lost at Sea

by babyteeth



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood, Collars, D/s elements, Dark, Drama, Humiliation, M/M, Possessive Peter Pan, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:52:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyteeth/pseuds/babyteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Peter collars his favorite stray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost at Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Here's some entirely self-indulgent, unbeta'd captain pan featuring my favorite tropes: hurt!Killian and dom!Peter. Yeah.
> 
> Most triggers are in the tags, but this fic also contains **asphyxiation, panic attacks, & ableist language.**

Killian was a third of a way through his flask of rum when the shadow came. The alcohol had sat warm in his belly for only a short while and was just starting to numb his fingers to the cold when Neverland’s winds rumbled ominously.

Something inhuman screeched in the distance. It was approaching alarmingly fast, Killian barely had the time to realize before the presence of something dark, something sinister, and something directly behind him prickled the hair on the back of his neck. 

Eyes wild, he spun around and let his flask fall to the deck as his good hand reached for his sword. Pan’s shadow stared at the pirate eerily and unblinking, suspended in mid-air with an unworldly stillness. With a detached horror, Killian realized his crew was asleep in their hammocks below deck rendering him presently, damnably alone.

Killian’s head swam from the rum and panic, and he could only stare as the sound of his remaining rum sloshing on the deck of the Jolly Roger filled the silence. 

“Um,” he said eloquently, before Pan’s shadow seized forth with a hollow whooshing sound to grab his wrist. The shadow lifted Killian easily to its eye level and examined the pirate with unfeeling, glowing eyes. Killian just began to spit his protest just when the shadow apparently had come to a decision and began to ascend in an great arch toward Neverland’s shores. 

“Smee!” Killian called out for his first mate in vain as the shadow lifted him away. Killian snarled and tried to swipe at the blasted creature with his hook only for it to phase harmlessly through the shadow’s form. 

Pan’s shadow deposited him in a small clearing in Neverland’s jungle, letting him fall a good six feet to the damp soil. The captain groaned and clutched at his aching head—rapidly sobering. “What gives, damned freak?” Killian tried for casual annoyance as the shadow lowered itself by the captain, but his voice was trembling too noticeably with terror to work.

Naturally, Pan’s shadow didn’t answer and wordlessly pointed a smokey finger at a seemingly random area of the jungle. Killian spun on his heel to look where the shadow was pointing and noticed orange flames distantly flickering between the trees and foliage. The real Pan’s pipes were drifting through the dense jungle, the somber music echoing eerily.

Unthinking, the pirate took a step toward the sound only to recall the shadow’s presence. Killian turned back only to find it gone. Warily, he narrowed his eyes and trudged forward with an awful dread churning his stomach.

Clearly, Pan was up to something again. He might as well play his part in Pan’s game sooner and maintain his dignity than fight tooth-and-nail only to succumb to being Pan’s obedient lackey in the end anyway. Peter Pan always won, which was something Killian had personally learned the hard way on multiple occasions. Liam’s face briefly flickered in his mind. 

Resistance was really useless in the long run.

Pan didn't notice, or, more aptly, pretended not to notice when Killian entered the Lost Boy’s camp. Galloping around a massive bon fire, the boys howled and shrieked over the beating of drums and Pan’s pipes. _Like animals,_ Killian thought to himself and brushed dirt off his coat haughtily. 

He picked his way around the swarm of masked boys and stopped himself right in front of where Pan was perched precariously atop a boulder. Killian didn’t move any closer than absolute necessary—he was pissed, not an idiot. The demon child could easily kill him with a single blow. 

“Really happy tune you’re playing there, mate. Whose funeral is it?”

The least Killian could do was pretend that he honestly didn’t care what Pan had in store for him. Like he was untouched by what Pan made him do, what he made _of_ him.

Pan peered coyly at Killian through his lashes and took his time finishing the last echoing notes of his song. All the while Killian scowled and kicked the dirt like he was bored.

Even though Pan had stopped playing the Lost Boys were still dancing around the fire in full swing, chanting like they were possessed. Pan's staring was beginning to grate on his nerves. Killian’s aggravation was quickly mounting and he desperately wanted to shout. Maybe something like, _‘What the hell do you want,’_ or _‘Stop staring at me, you creep,'_ but he held his tongue like an obedient pawn.

“Your other half isn’t much of a conversationalist,” Killian managed instead, anxiously toying with his hook and remembering the way it slid uselessly through said shadow.

Pan stood and tucked his pipes into the breast of his tunic. His eyes were pin pricks of light where the bon fire’s glow barely reached. “Yes, well, he wouldn’t have much use for a mouth anyway.” He cocked his head at Killian like an inquisitive bird, the darkness making him look less humanoid. “You on the other hand, ahh, we’ll see, I suppose.”

Killian frowned, suddenly aching for his flask. He was getting too old for these games. 

Pan’s gaze briefly flickered over his shoulder, and Killian, predictably, turned around to see Felix had soundlessly approached, a club tossed over his shoulder and smirk in place. When Killian turned back around Pan had already transported himself right in front of the captain.

 _Brilliant,_ Hook thought to himself and barely restrained the urge to draw his sword. He lifted his hands placatingly and struggled to conjure a smile that didn't wholly give away his anxiety, “Look, gentlemen, as nice as it is seeing you both again, I’d rather you just get it over with and tell me while I’m here.”

“You can hear the music,” Pan said as if that explained everything, and smiled like he had stolen something precious from Killian. 

“And?” Killian prompted at length, cocking a brow at Pan’s frankly terrifying exxpression and glancing back at Felix who had somehow moved within arm’s-length. 

Pan giggled in delight and reached out to grab a fistful of Killian’s hair. “ _And,_ my dear captain, my music can only be heard by boys who are lost. Boys who feel unloved, unwanted, unbelonging. _Unneeded._ ” Pan’s grip on his hair tightened painfully, and his smile widened to bare more teeth, “What’s the matter, Hook? Has your crew finally realized how incapable you are? A selfish drunkard keeping them all here for your hopeless campaign of revenge.”

Killian swallowed, refusing to rise to the bait. Pan watched him for a moment before baring his throat fearlessly as his head tipped back in laughter. “I have no intention of letting you leave Neverland with or without dreamshade, Hook.”

Killian stood feeling like the ground was giving out beneath him. All these years of doing Pan’s dirty work for nothing. All the lives he had taken, all the time wasted. 

Pan was never planning on coming through with his end of the deal. 

Of course, Killian thought bitterly, trusting _Peter fucking Pan_ should have been the first indication that he was going about his revenge wrong. 

Killian’s chest burned with rage—stupidly—with betrayal. His revenge was _everything_. His reason for continued existence. The dreamshade was his only chance of ridding the realms of the Dark One, and Pan had dangled it in front of him like one would tease a starving dog with meat. 

Killian’s vision swam red and he lunged forward with the intent of ripping Pan’s fucking throat out. 

Something swiftly cracked against the side of his skull, throwing him to ground before he could get his hook through Pan. Killian’s conscious seemed to momentarily shut down, his vision pitch black, silence screaming in his ears. 

When he came to, he had already hit the ground. Blood was pouring hot down his scalp and seeping into his coat. Killian reached up to gingerly touch the wound before he registered the searing pain blooming in his skull, shrieking down his spine, and completely numbing any feeling in his limbs. 

Killian choked on a dry sob distantly watching Felix lower his now-bloodied club, the lost boy’s eyes utterly empty. 

Pan crouched next to Killian humming thoughtfully, like his second-hand man hadn’t just single-handedly given Killian a concussion. “If I had known you were going to throw yourself at me so willingly, I would have told you my intentions long ago.” Pan’s grin was feral, as if he was pleased with Killian’s reaction.

“Why?” Killian choked out through the agony, not even sure what part he was questioning at this point.

Felix approached behind Killian and hooked his arms under Killian’s to hoist him upright. Killian’s knees buckled, when he tried to put pressure on them, but Felix was prepared, wrapping his arms around Killian’s front and holding most of his weight. 

Pan phased in front of them and giggled. “Because. All the Lost Boys of Neverland are under my care, Hook,” he practically sang, “I take in all of the unwanted, all of the lost—including you! You’re one of mine, Hook. Now aren’t you special?” Pan mock-cooed at the pirate, enjoying the horror slowly dawn on Killian’s face.

“ ‘m not a boy,” the captain slurred, the blood loss or the concussion making his head swim. 

“You’re not,” Pan agreed nodding sagely to himself and then gazed up at the sky, searching. Pan’s shadow came screeching down from the black. “My shadow picked you up itself, captain. He senses your type, you know.” Pan looked thoughtful, which, Killian decided, was a scary look on him.

Pan’s shadow hovered over them, waiting. The real Pan reached into his shadow's murky form and wrenched out a mass of swirling darkness. The shadow hissed angrily and retreated upwards, away from Pan’s prying fingers. Pan manipulated the shadow in his hand, the smokey black substance giving way to shape easily, like spray paint coating an invisible object. 

It was only when Pan smugly held up his creation to him, did Killian recognize Pan’s work. It was a collar.

The captain’s head pounded as he realized Pan’s intentions. He scanned his surroundings wildly looking for something to save him, someway to distract Pan. He noticed that the Lost Boys had stopped their dancing and howling to curiously watch Pan and Hook’s proceedings. 

Killian would have blushed in humiliation if so much of his blood wasn’t already dripping down his wounded head. 

When Pan moved toward Killian, adrenaline surged and the pirate snapped into action, twisting in Felix’s grip and hooking his foot around the lost boy’s ankle to pull. The pair fell in a tangled heap and Killian dug his hook mercilessly into the meat of Felix’s forearm. 

Felix shouted a curse and instinctively released the captain. Killian only managed to crawl away a few feet before Pan transported in front of him, effectively blocking his path. The Lost Boys laughed and yipped excitedly, no doubt eager to see their leader get violent. 

Panting, Killian slowly peered up at Pan who was watching him with open amusement, collar clutched in one hand.

Pushing back on Killian’s shoulder with a booted foot, Pan moved Killian until he was sitting back on his heels. Adrenaline already faded, Killian weakly allowed himself to be maneuvered, his head pounding more insistently and his breaths coming in shallow pants. He was at his limit as it was.

Pan stepped forward to place a leg in between Killian’s knees and brushed his fingers over the nape of Killian’s neck. Pan’s gentle touch was almost worst than the pain and Killian’s head lolled forward into Pan’s hip in defeat. 

The Lost Boys were sniggering, and Killian squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to block out the whole humiliating situation. 

“Let’s not be dramatic, Hook. You were mine from the start. Only now I get to take care of you like my boys here.” Pan laughed easily, wrapping the shadow collar around Killian’s neck, and carefully morphing the collar closed with magic, making sure it was snug and secure. 

“Besides, you belong here with us, Killian. With _me._ ” Pan splayed his hand possessively on the back of Killian’s neck, feeling the contrast between his shadow’s magic and Hook’s warm skin. Killian buried his face further into Pan’s hip, shame and the need to hide his face overriding his rage. 

“Although, I’ll admit, your case is a little different.” Pan’s giggle was mean and Killian immediately gritted his teeth. _Fucking brat,_ Killian thought before Pan shifted his hips to press the hardness in his pants against Killian’s cheek to indicate his words' meaning.

The pirate froze; panic, disgust, and disbelief waging war for the strongest emotion surging inside him. He was suddenly hyper-aware of their audience of _minors_ and his stomach flipped nauseatingly. _Pan wouldn’t,_ he desperately told himself, fully knowing the contrary, and held his breath. He kept his face unmoving, cheek barely touching the velvety fabric of Pan’s tunic. 

The collar suddenly felt very heavy and suddenly made a frightening amount of sense. 

Felix grunted in pain somewhere behind Killian and the bon fire crackled loudly. Everything was too much, too loud, too painful, and Killian’s grasp on reality felt askew, everything different and foreign. 

Pan crouched to meet Killian’s eyes and grasped either side of his head, brushing fingers across stubble and blood. “Now tell me your mine. Tell me.” Pan’s eyes were wild and fever-bright as they flickered between Killian’s. He cocked a brow expectantly and smiled widely, canines gleaming in the bon fire’s glow. He looked sick.

Killian felt his esophagus tighten in panic, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He internally screamed at his body to raise his hook, draw his sword, do _something_ , but his limbs wouldn’t respond, the blood loss was taking its toll and rendering his body and mind sluggish.

“Who owns you, Hook? _Let's hear it,_ ” Pan’s grin was turning feral, his voice raising. The collar on Killian’s neck tightened by itself, the smooth shadow shrinking incriminate by minute incriminate until Killian could feel each rapid beat of his heart, every sharp throb of his split skull.

“You,” Killian croaked, dizzy with pain and bitter with resentment toward the Lost Boys who had busied themselves by snickering and mocking the pirate.

“Ah, ah,” Pan chided playfully, “ _Who,_ Killian?”

The captain groaned in agony, the pain of the damned collar and his bleeding head unbearable.

“You do, Peter. You own me.” 

Pan pressed his lips to Killian’s, urgent and rough. The act was more of a show of possession than anything and a fresh wave of shame immediately washed over Killian. 

“ _That’s_ my good boy” the woodland demon breathed against Killian’s lips and enveloped the wounded pirate in his arms. “Now was that really so hard?”

The collar loosened allowing Killian to pant harshly into Pan’s neck, and the throbbing of his skull immediately dulled. The pirate promptly lost consciousness in Pan’s unyielding arms, much to Pan’s combined amusement and approval.

Felix approached the pair, clutching his bloodied forearm and watching wordlessly. 

“Fetch some water from the dreamshade’s spring, won’t you?” Peter distractedly ordered Felix, busy playing with Hook’s blood-crusted hair.

“Yes, Peter,” Felix smirked, pulled up his hood, and wandered off into the jungle silently, ever obedient.


End file.
